


Demon Night

by Trobadora



Category: Charmed (TV)
Genre: F/M, Identity Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-07
Updated: 2011-08-07
Packaged: 2017-10-22 07:47:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/235782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trobadora/pseuds/Trobadora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"I'm always Belthazor, Phoebe."</i> - Set some time during the second half of season 3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Demon Night

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt _Phoebe/Cole, wall_.

It's one of those rare nights when they truly have time for themselves: their enemies believe Cole dead, and there's no one in particular after the Charmed Ones right now. An uninterrupted night of dancing - it's nearly 3am when they finally leave P3. Phoebe and Cole take their time on their way home, stretching the moment just because, for once, they can. Not rushing, slowly, delaying, building up. Phoebe can't help steal glances at Cole every other moment, and Cole is the same. Her arm is hooked into his, her thumb brushing against the sleeve of his shirt, their bodies bumping together every now and then as they stroll along.

Suddenly Cole stills. His eyes sweep across their surroundings. Phoebe, who can feel the sudden tension in his body, follows suit, but all she sees are a few groups of young people on their way home from the club. Cole turns towards her. Her arm slips out of his, and his hands come up to frame her face.

"Phoebe?" His eyes are intense, as always.

"Cole." She's a bit breathless.

"I'm sorry. Just a moment." And with that he lets go of her, steps back into the shadow of a doorway, and Shimmers. With the now-familiar blur of his demonic powers, he disappears.

Phoebe curses under her breath, turns around. Where is he? What has driven him away?

It doesn't take long for her to pick up the sounds of a struggle in an alley ahead. Phoebe takes off at as much speed as her shoes - chosen for dancing, not fighting - will allow. She rushes into the dark alley, and after a moment she sees it: Cole is up against four demons - not good odds, even with his powers. He just barely dodges a firebolt thrown his way, which sends astray the energy ball he was aiming at one of them. It smashes into a dirty wall, leaving singe marks behind.

Cole snarls, and his form ripples. In his demonic form he towers over the others, and easily dispatches two of the demons before they can adjust to their changed target. Cole - no, not Cole; Belthazor now - Belthazor turns towards the third even as Phoebe finally reaches them, immediately jumping the fourth demon. She can't vanquish him - she doesn't have the powers, or the potion - but she can keep him distracted while Belthazor, a blur of red-and-black at the edge of her vision, battles the other demon, clearly the most powerful of the bunch. Energy balls and firebolts fly, hissing through the air.

A firebolt nearly hits - Belthazor crouches down on the ground to avoid it, and there's already a second one following. Phoebe doesn't hesitate - she gives her own opponent a vicious kick, and he stumbles backwards, right into the firebolt's path. Even as he burns up, a second scream erupts - Belthazor has used the distraction to finally vanquish the other demon.

Phoebe breathes heavily, a grin erupting on her face. They're alone again in the dark alley. Belthazor is rising from his crouch a few steps ahead, and they turn toward each other. Phoebe rushes over, unheeding of his demonic appearance just for the moment.

"Are you all right?" she asks, peering up into his red-and-black-skinned face, those unreadable black eyes. "They recognised you, didn't they?"

Belthazor nods, slowly. "I needed to take care of them before word got out." Hesitation, which looks strange in this imposing, inhuman figure. "You saved me," he adds. His voice is low, and Phoebe thinks she can almost hear wonder under the rough demonic tinge.

She steps forward, raises her hand to his face. Just now, it doesn't matter what he looks like, what he is - he's just the man she loves. She smiles at him. "Next time, don't just shimmer off. Safety in numbers, all right?"

He nods again, and one of his hands - larger than she is used to - comes to rest on her shoulder.

"We're safe," she continues. A wide smile spreads on her face. "We can do this. We're stronger than them." _Because we love each other_ , she doesn't add, but she knows that he knows.

Belthazor almost seems to smile as well, although his fangs undermine the impression somewhat. He should have shifted back into his human form by now, but he hasn't. Instead, they're still standing in the same position, her hand on his face, his hand on her shoulder. His gaze is intense, and neither of them is moving. They're standing close, very close. A different kind of excitement spikes through the remaining adrenalin from the fight.

"Yes," she murmurs as they drift closer. "Yes."

A brief brush of lips-against lips, and then Belthazor lets out a feral laugh. Both of his hands are on her shoulders before she knows it, and with a dizzying move he slams her into the brick wall behind her. Trepidation creeps into Phoebe's excitement. He leans down, his red-and-black skin gleaming under the low remnants of the streetlights. He's insanely strong like this, and there's no way she could physically resist him. Her stomach churns. The words are out of Phoebe's mouth before she's even conscious of them: "Cole ... don't ..."

He freezes - freezes as if she'd borrowed Piper's powers. Even as she tries to catch her breath, she can see and feel him shifting. Looking human once more, he steps back. His eyes are trailing off to the side; he turns away.

"Phoebe ..." His voice is still rough, but _human_ now, rough with emotion. He rubs a tired hand across his face, over his soft brown hair. "I'm sorry. I ..." He trails off.

She takes a deep breath to calm herself. Her eyes sweep over his body, reassuring herself that he's all there. All Cole. He's half turned away from her, but misery is clear in his posture, in his bowed head, the tense line of his shoulders.

She doesn't hesitate; she reaches out to him. "Cole?"

Cole looks up. "I don't know what I was thinking." A dejected laugh. "How could I think ..." He shakes his head. "It won't happen again, Phoebe, I never meant ..."

"To scare me?" She finishes the sentence when he trails off.

"To drag you into this mess." Again, he shakes his head. "I'm sorry."

She wraps her arms around his shoulders. "This mess being our relationship? Newsflash, Cole - that one takes two. And it's worth it." She presses a kiss against the nape of his neck. "It's worth it," she repeats, and she's not sure who she's trying to convince.

He turns around, pulls her close, breathes her in, holds her, desperately. As if he's never going to let her go again.

She doesn't want him to.

"Were you in control?" she whispers.

He flinches. "Yes." Hoarsely. "I wouldn't ... Phoebe, you have to believe me, I would never take that chance. Not with you."

She does believe it; that's the truly frightening thing. He's a demon, regardless of his human half, and there's no telling whether resisting his nature is even possible, but she believes it utterly - he would never hurt her. No part of him would.

"I trust you," she whispers and kisses him, desperately. "Do it again."

Cole shudders against her. "You don't mean that."

"Let me decide what I mean." She smiles, wryly. "We don't need to get everything right on the first try."

He laughs, a trembling laugh that makes something in her chest clench tightly. And then, under her hands, he shifts again.

She's holding a demon now.

He's always a demon, of course, no matter how much she wishes it were otherwise - no matter how human he looks, it's not just in his past, it's a part of him. But it's different like this. Impossibly tall and muscled, red-skinned and bald, razor-teethed, nothing remains of the handsome man he normally presents as.

Hard muscle, firm against her body - there's no softness there, none at all. And yet his touch is still gentle. His fingers brush her cheek tenderly, sweeping a lock of hair from her face.

Her trepidation evaporates under his burning gaze.

"Hold still." His voice is harsh, roughened and more suited to a violent animal roar than tender nothings, but she fancies she can hear the tenderness underneath, a layer too subtle for anyone else to pick up.

"I love you," she whispers, courage for them both.

Deliberately, intently, Belthazor presses forward, backing her into the wall again. She moves with him, something indescribable roiling in her belly. Her skin is all gooseflesh, and her eyes are wide, staring. She can barely believe what she's doing. But she's not stopping. She's _not_.

Then he's lifting her up, and she wraps her legs around him almost defiantly. She opens her mouth to Belthazor's lips, sucks on his tongue, sweeps her own tongue across his fanged teeth. She's captured between his body and the wall, her hands on his shoulders, her fingernails digging into his skin.

He's still the man she loves. He has to be. She's not kissing a true demon; she's not cheating on Cole with his other self. He's in control, he must be.

He must.

Belthazor's hands are roaming her body, rough and urgent, and all other thought falls to the side. He feels hot pressing against her, his hardness against her crotch, her clit. A large hand cups her breast, no more roughly than she likes. Then he's rutting against her, slamming her into the wall. She'll have bruises. She doesn't mind.

Phoebe surges against him, screams her release.

Everything blurs around her. The wall behind her somehow vanishes, and she falls back onto a mattress. He lands on top of her. More bruises. Who cares?

Belthazor moves back, looking down at her, and it takes a second for her to realise they've actually Shimmered - he's taken them to her room. Her own bed.

Phoebe doesn't let it pull her out of the moment. She reaches out for him, pulls Belthazor down to her, her lips attacking his throat, his chin, his mouth. He lets out a roar that rumbles through her entire body, begins to claw at her dress.

Their clothes are quickly disposed of, and she sees him fully for the first time. The black pattern on his head continues down his body, sweeping over his chest, his stomach, circling around his crotch. Phoebe's eyes can't help follow the lines down. He's big like this, and she shivers, unsure ...

With careless ease Belthazor flips her over onto her stomach, reaching between her legs. She's dripping. A growl escapes his lips, and she moans in surprised pleasure.

He pulls her up on her knees then, spreading her legs. Clawed fingers trail across her inner thighs for a moment, sharp claws on delicate flesh, but he's careful, so careful it's all much too slow.

"Cole," Phoebe moans as she twists in his grip, bucking against him, her body begging for more, and then ...

Then Belthazor's hands, firm and unyielding, are steadying her hips, and with one almost vicious thrust he buries himself deep inside her.

Phoebe screams as she bucks up, away from him or into him she doesn't know. She feels stretched to the bursting. He gives her not a moment to think, his hips slamming into her again, filling her even deeper.

There's no thought left, nothing at all beyond this, Belthazor holding her, pounding into her with violent, singular intent. Phoebe shifts, meeting his thrusts, turning up her hips at just that angle ...

He roars above her as they move together, rough and wild, their bodies begging for release. She comes, shrieking, just from that, but it doesn't stop him; he doesn't stop at all, keeps pounding into her with a demon's strength, a demon's stamina.

He doesn't stop. He wrings another orgasm out of her and doesn't stop, doesn't stop at all until she's hanging bonelessly in his unrelenting grasp, no more energy left to meet his thrusts. He keeps pounding into her body even then, keeps sending sparks of pleasure through her belly until after an eternity he finally comes with a violent roar, and collapses half on top of her.

There will be hand-shaped bruises on her hips tomorrow, and she will feel him inside her for a long time.

She wants to.

Phoebe lies drifting, dreaming, heavy-limbed and sore. Sailing on endorphins. He's there with her, his skin hot on hers, his cock still buried inside her. Neither of them moves. She never wants it to end.

After a while he shifts above her, slipping out of her. His hand brushes over her back, claws trailing gently down her spine. She suppresses a shiver. The endorphins are beginning to subside.

What have they done?

Can he really have been in control through all this? Has she slept with Cole Turner or with Belthazor? Either way, he wrung pleasure out of her she'd barely known her body could give. Either way, she gave herself to him with abandon. Not knowing, heedless of the consequences. He thrilled her, body and mind, and she didn't care. A demon's passion - they've both given in to it.

Dread begins to settle in her stomach.

Phoebe can feel Belthazor sit up, and she knows his eyes - those black, demonic eyes - are resting on her. She can feel it. Her skin burns under it. Her heart beats faster again, and there's a lump in her throat. Her body remembers every movement, every touch. Suddenly she can't lie still any more - can't stay like this, in the position he left her in.

Phoebe's body aches as she pulls herself up, wrapping her arms around her knees against the memory. She turns her face away from him. She still wants him, too much.

She has to remember she knows better. No matter how good it was.

"Phoebe?" That rough, inhuman voice.

Her throat is too tight. She doesn't say anything.

A clawed hand touches her shoulder, gently. She doesn't flinch away, but she can't stop herself from tensing.

Belthazor shifts on the bed - no, just plain shifts - and the hand on her back is human all of a sudden, human fingers caressing her.

"Phoebe?" Cole asks again, his human voice gentle and warm, full of concern.

She turns then, sitting up, reaching for him, burrowing her face in his shoulder, his _human_ shoulder. Her hands sweep over his back. She needs to feel him. Needs _those_ memories, right now.

"Did I go too far?" Cole holds her carefully, as if she might break.

She might.

"I'm sorry, Phoebe."

"Don't be," she says, "don't be. It was -" She swallows, gathering her wits. Never mind her own traitorous body - what will it do to him, giving in to the demonic part of himself again, even in this context? Letting his demon side have its way? He's worked so hard to suppress it, to keep it under tight control. Has she harmed him, encouraging him to do this? She has to know. "Did you ..." She swallows, heavily.

"What, Phoebe?"

She forces the words out. "Being Belthazor like that ... did it make him stronger?"

Cole pulls her tighter against him. Human muscles, strong but nothing like Belthazor's, human skin against her. "No," he says, urgently, and she can hear nothing but honesty in his voice. "Phoebe, no. If I'd ... I wouldn't have done that. I wouldn't have taken that risk, not with you. You're safe with me, I promise you that."

"I know." She opens her eyes and leans back a little, smiling at him. That's one thing she could never doubt. "I do know that, Cole. I'm not afraid you'll hurt me. I'm afraid you're hurting _yourself_."

He looks stunned for a moment. And then, hurriedly, "It's not like that." He grimaces. "I think it helped," he admits, "letting go like this. All that demonic power ... letting it out safely, like this, when I know I won't harm anyone ... it helped." He shrugs, helplessly. He's clearly still working it out for himself.

Phoebe blinks. "It helps?" she repeats and tries to wrap her mind around the concept. She's never thought of Belthazor's powers as anything but something evil, something corrupting. That using them could be anything other than a danger to Cole ...

He looks down, presses his fingers against the bridge of his nose. "Time to admit it," he mutters, almost to himself. Then he lifts his head and looks directly into her eyes. There's real fear in them now. "Belthazor isn't someone else. It's time I admitted it - we're not separate, no matter how much I might wish it. He's me. He always was me. My own choices. My own deeds."

"Is that supposed to make it better?" Phoebe looks at him uncomfortably, remembering only too well the things Belthazor has done.

That's who she slept with just now - the monster. The killer. If he's right, that's who she's always slept with.

But he's changed. If he's right, he's not like that any more. No part of him is.

"Better?" Cole shakes his head, unhappily. "It's making things clearer, at least. That was me, doing evil. And this, here, now, with you - there's no evil in this."

She presses her lips together, runs a hand over her hips where Belthazor gripped her, lets herself feel all the aches in her body. Involuntarily she clenches her muscles around a cock that's no longer inside her, feeling. Remembering.

No evil. No danger. A small bubble of relieved joy is beginning to build in her chest.

It must be shining brightly enough for him to see, because Cole smiles at her, relief plain on his face as well.

"Phoebe ..." Cole leans forward, and his lips brush against hers. Something intense is burning in his eyes. It looks like hope. "I can't keep suppressing that much demonic power. No one can. But I can channel it, direct it. I did it here - there was no harm in it, no harm meant and no harm done. And if I can do that, then I can use it elsewhere as well, use it for good."

She almost flinches away. "No." Demonic powers, used for good? It's against everything she and her sisters have always believed.

"Yes, Phoebe." Utter conviction, now. She can't disbelieve it.

Phoebe considers, and allows the old patterns to shift. "You can really control it?"

"I know it! Now - after this ..." Cole tilts her chin up and kisses her again. "I'm always Belthazor, Phoebe." He smiles down at her. "But the other side of the coin is that I'm always Cole as well."

Phoebe's never looked at it like this before. She thinks, hard. "You're half human. You have free will, right?" He nods, unnecessarily. Her heart seems to fill her whole chest. "Then that's good enough for me," she decides.

Still she can't suppress a tiny flinch when he shifts into his other form again, when Belthazor meets her eyes. He holds still, merely looking at her, letting her grow used to the thought. She thinks the grimace on his demonic visage must be a wry grin.

"Cole?" Her voice is tentative, remnants of fear holding the joy in check.

Cole smiles, as gently as he is capable of like this, and touches a clawed finger to her cheek. "Phoebe, trust me. Trust me that I'm choosing right."

"I do!" Her outburst surprises even her. Blinking, she repeats, "I promise - I do." And she wraps her arms around him, clinging to him. Cole returns her embrace with demonic strength.

Her heart flows over. She does.


End file.
